


By Foot It's a Slow Climb, or, Coffee Delivery and Unexpected Consequences Thereof

by alpheratz



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee, M/M, Panic Attack, Ridiculousness, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/pseuds/alpheratz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe was happily unattached and married to his company, and then one day he ordered coffee. He wants to look at the coffee delivery guy forever, and he's got his team, his receptionist Mikey Way, and Mikey's ever-present brother to make sure he doesn't fuck it up. Written for the 2012 bandomstuffsit challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Foot It's a Slow Climb, or, Coffee Delivery and Unexpected Consequences Thereof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romanticalgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/gifts).



> Written for the 2012 bandomstuffsit challenge. Originally posted [here](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/42732.html).

Cobra Enterprises resides in a glass and concrete palace, and it's Gabe's domain. His desk is pristine and gleaming with reflected light flooding in through the full-wall window. Gabe's shoes are gleaming too, and the street below is clean, shiny, and orderly. It gives him aesthetic satisfaction.

He snaps shut the file in his hands and turns around. Victoria's in the doorway, looking even more immaculate than her surroundings. Shiny, shiny hair, neat black dress, lethal heels that mysteriously don't make a sound even when she walks with purpose.

"I'm done with this," says Gabe. "Throw it on the heap."

"Don't insult my fucking filing system," sniffs Victoria, but takes the file. "Did you even do anything with this other than read it?"

"It's sweet that you think I even read it," says Gabe. He's not even sure what was in it. Reading the files is not his thing.

Victoria rolls her eyes, but smiles at him. Then she freezes. "Do you smell something?"

"Who smelt it, dealt it," Gabe says just to make her roll her eyes again. She doesn't bite. "Wait," he says. There is a smell. "Mikey Way, you motherfucker."

Gabe grabs Victoria's hand and follows the scent down the dimly lit hallway, past empty offices with their blinds down - he's going to have words with whoever did that - towards reception. There's a distant sound of the elevator chime. Victoria's shoes are completely silent. He's going to have to cave someday and ask her how she does that. 

When the reception desk comes into view, Gabe slows down and presses his finger to his lips to shush Victoria. _That_ gets an eyeroll. She doesn't need the warning. She's always in tune with Gabe.

The reception desk is even cleaner and infinitely more impressive than Gabe's desk, and Gabe has the best office on the entire floor. Appearances matter. The receptionist must be intimidating. The right person to represent the striking cobra carved into the wood of the desk didn't come along for a long time, and even when he did, Gabe wasn't sure he was the right fit. Mikey Way is deceptively non-intimidating.

Of course, Mikey Way is also a traitor, because he's drinking coffee.

"Was that Gerard?" Gabe demands loudly in hopes of startling Mikey. "Did he bring you that?"

Mikey only slowly turns, sipping the coffee like he's doing nothing wrong. "Yes."

"You can't drink that in here," says Gabe petulantly.

"Why not?" Mikey asks. His expression is blank but Gabe knows he's laughing. 

"You can't have things that don't bear our logo in here." Gabe turns to Victoria for support, but she's already gone, as silently as ever.

"New policy?" Mikey asks dryly.

Gabe nods. "Victoria will tell you."

"And she's conveniently gone." Mikey turns the cup sideways, waving it at Gabe. There's some kind of Sharpied scribble on it, thick stark black against the white cardboard. 

Gabe leans in to examine it. "That's not our design."

Mikey shrugs. "It's a cobra logo. It looks pretty rad and you're overdue for a redesign."

The cobra does look pretty rad, but...

"He spelled 'cobra' wrong," Gabe points out. Mikey's eyes narrow and Gabe pumps his fist on the inside. Mikey-baiting through Gerard is a game he plays with relish. There are notches in washable ink on the underside of his desk. "I know he majored in art, not English, but I'm surprised he doesn't know there isn't a 'K' in it."

"I'll mention it to him," says Mikey blandly, but Gabe hears the threat in it anyway. 

"White flag, Mikey Way. I apologize." An annoyed, artistically insulted Gerard in his lobby isn't something Gabe can deal with again. 

Mikey drinks deeply and tauntingly, hiding a smile behind the cup. That's the final straw. 

"Please order us coffee," says Gabe firmly. "One for everyone."

"None for me, thanks," says Victoria. "And Alex and Nate are out on a call."

Gabe jumps. "You weren't there half a second ago. You _left_."

"Someone has to do work around here."

"You just went to the bathroom, didn't you?" Gabe asks. Victoria doesn't react, just turns and walks away in the direction of her office. Gabe loves to watch her go. "Right. Mikey, coffee for two, please."

"That was a short-lived policy," Mikey says, but picks up the phone and dials. Of course he knows the local business numbers by heart. Gabe leans over Mikey's desk and watches him place the order from up close, getting all up in his face.

"No, we want it delivered," Mikey says, twisting away from Gabe. "Yeah. Three coffees."

"Two," Gabe says loudly.

Mikey slaps his hand over Gabe's mouth and pushes him away as he rattles off the address. "Yeah. Twenty minutes is great. Thanks." 

"Mikey, did you just order yourself more coffee? Is Gerard's coffee not good enough? Should I have a talk with him?"

"Don't you have to work?"

"Not really," says Gabe and propels himself away from Mikey's desk, walking over to the window behind it. The glass is so clear it's like it's not even there. It's another tactic. Blind them with appearances. 

He glances over his shoulder at Mikey. He's got four chat windows pulled up, which is fewer than average, so Gabe lets it go. 

Down in the street, there are hardly any cars and not many pedestrians. It's well past lunchtime and their street doesn't get that much foot traffic. It makes the business look elite. That's why Gabe spots him right away, the small figure in slim-cut jeans and a hoodie, non-notable clothes except for the way they're _him_ , not lazy day wear. Black hair and a coffee tray.

The coffee boy disappears into the building and a few seconds later Gabe hears the nearly imperceptible chime of the elevator opening downstairs. The coffee is coming. 

The coffee boy isn't a boy but a guy about Gabe's age, just one dressed like a college student. And short. Very short. He looks around and shuffles up to the glass doors of Cobra Enterprises like his awkwardness is a lifestyle choice he's embracing. 

The coffee guy pulls the right half of the heavy doors open and slips inside sideways, not so much balancing the coffee tray as clutching it to his chest with his free arm. Nothing spills. Gabe is impressed. 

"Right here," says Mikey, and the coffee guy sets the coffee on the bright edge of the reception desk. Mikey snaps one of the cups out of the tray before Gabe even gets close and licks the opening of the lid. "Mine," says Mikey. 

The coffee guy stares. "Is there not enough? You ordered three, right?"

"There's too much," says Gabe, leaning against the desk and watching the coffee guy's eyes flicker down his stretched legs. 

"Okay," the coffee guy says, drawing the word out. It's insultingly dubious. 

"No, tell me, coffee guy," Gabe says. "Mikey here already had a cup of coffee. His own brother brought it to him. Gerard tore himself away from his art--"

"He was procrastinating," Mikey interrupts. 

"--tore himself away from his art," Gabe says with a glare, "and trekked halfway across town--"

"Across the street."

"--to bring Mikey coffee. He even drew a badly spelled picture on the cup. And Mikey ordered himself more coffee." 

Coffee guy gives Gabe a weirded-out look and holds out his hand to Mikey for a fist-bump. "Coffee rules, dude," he says. "I'd be dead in a mangled van on the side of the road if not for it. You want another after that, you call me."

"Thanks, man," says Mikey. 

Coffee guy picks up Mikey's old cup from the desk and squints at the Sharpied cobra on it. "Your brother drew that? That looks pretty rad."

"That's what I said," says Mikey with a totally uncalled-for look in Gabe's direction. "My brother is an artist," Mikey tells Pete with pride in his voice.

"Okay!" says Gabe. "Coffee guy, thanks for the coffee, but it's time for us to get back to work." 

"Uh-huh," says coffee guy, casting a dubious look around the lobby and the deserted corridors to either side. "Is it a clutter-free mind kind of thing?"

"It's all smoke and mirrors," Gabe says, shooing him to the door and hitting the elevator button. "We're very, very fucking busy."

Coffee guy's eyes are dark and unimpressed and trained on Gabe as the elevator doors slide shut.

"Who was that?" Gabe asks, still staring at the elevator doors long after they slide shut. 

"I've seen him at a couple of shows," says Mikey. "Never met him."

Gabe bites back a request to find out, even though finding things out is part of Mikey's job, and instead says, "Order more coffee tomorrow, okay? Same time."

"Kay," says Mikey, already distracted. 

"And stop chatting."

"Sure," says Mikey, typing away.

Gabe shakes his head and takes the last cup to bring to Ryland. Ryland's office is in the furthest corner of the building, opposite Gabe's office. He has two glass walls, but Gabe doesn't begrudge Ryland that. Ryland and the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out and feet on the desk, fit this office well.

"Ryland, my friend," Gabe tells the back of Ryland's head. "I got you coffee."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Ryland says, craning his neck around and accepting the cup. "Do you mean you actually went out to buy it or you called out for it?"

"I asked Mikey to call."

Ryland nods sagely. "Delegating. The basis of our business model." 

"Exactly." Gabe sits down. "A coffee guy brought it." 

"That's how delivery works, yes."

"I don't think he was very impressed with me."

"I saw him walking here," says Ryland. "He didn't look like the kind of person who's easily impressed."

Gabe generally trusts Ryland's judgment from more than five stories above, but this is ridiculous. "Everyone's the kind of person who is easily impressed if you know how to impress them."

"Except for you?" Ryland asks blandly. "This is good coffee. We should get it delivered every day."

"I work on that shit," Gabe says, gesturing emphatically. "And yes, we should. So I can evaluate and impress the coffee guy. That didn't come out right."

Ryland gives him a measuring look. "Pulling the pigtails of delivery people isn't in our mission statement."

"I'm going to petition to change our mission statement, then," Gabe says decisively. "Make a note of it for our next board meeting."

Ryland nods and pulls up his calendar. "That's at the bar next Thursday."

"That's soon enough," Gabe nods. 

"Do you think we should be revising the mission statement wasted?"

"Wasted is where genius lies, Ryland."

Ryland nods. "It's on the agenda."

***

The next day Gabe reminds Mikey to call out for coffee again and lurks in his office with his face pressed to the glass until he sees the coffee guy walking over. He's glancing up at the windows and Gabe almost pulls back before he remembers that the glass is mirrored. "Smooth," he tells himself and runs a hand over his tie. 

He sneaks down the hallway, practicing Victoria's silent walk, and meets Mikey's stare. He was completely silent, he knows, but Mikey's got the hearing of a small woodland rodent, always on the alert.

Gabe sticks his head out of the hallway into the lobby and waits. The elevator chimes sweetly and coffee guy steps out with a tray of three coffees. Today the hoodie is different, purple instead of green, but the jeans and kicks are the same. 

Mikey's still shooting Gabe a Look and Gabe flaps his hand at him to act normal. That might be beyond Mikey, but he can at least look at coffee guy instead of Gabe. That should be easy because coffee guy is fascinating. 

Gabe watches him do through the same coffee-to-chest clutching procedure to get through the heavy door and pulls back just as coffee guy makes it inside the lobby and sets the coffee onto Mikey's desk.

"Thanks, Pete," Mikey says with a toothy smile and the coffee guy grins back. He's got laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. Coffee guy gets a toothy smile now? And Mikey knows his name? And his name is Pete?

"Coffee guy!" Gabe says, making his entrance. 

The coffee guy jumps gratifyingly. "I know you heard my name, strange tall dude."

"But we haven't been introduced," Gabe says, taking a coffee out of the tray. 

"It's Pete," says Pete. 

Gabe nods. "For all I know, Mikey could've made your name up."

Pete gives Gabe the same unimpressed look as the day before, laugh lines gone, and turns to leave, but as he pushes the glass door, the elevator chimes open again and Gerard walks out with two coffee cups, right on cue. 

Mikey's face lights up with the same toothy smile and Gerard beams back, blinding even from fifteen feet away. 

"Pete, stay for a bit," says Mikey. "You gotta meet Gerard."

The laugh lines come back even though this smile is more cautious. "That's Gerard," Gabe says helpfully. "Resident loiterer, bad speller."

"Fuck off, Gabe," says Mikey. 

"I'm your boss," says Gabe, mentally adding another notch to his desk. 

"So what's strange tall dude's problem?" Pete asks Gerard in the same awkward monotone he says everything, then adds, "Hi, I'm Pete. You really come here every day by choice?"

"You heard my name," Gabe mutters, leaning on the desk and watching Pete and Gerard make awkward but pleasant conversation that jumps from coffee to loitering to Gerard's art to his gallery show the week after, and then Gerard's inviting Pete to the show and Pete is grinning and Gabe is scowling.

Mikey pokes him. "What _is_ your problem?" 

"Nothing," Gabe says and makes himself stop scowling. His poker face is unparalleled.

Gerard finally waves goodbye at Pete and comes up to the desk. "Oh, you already have coffee," he says in a disappointed voice. 

"Yours is better," says Mikey firmly, examining the doodle on the side of the cup, a more streamlined version of the cobra from the day before in the same confident strokes of black sharpie. "Thanks." 

"That guy you were just talking to brought it," says Gabe. 

"Pete," Gerard says with a smile. "He was nice."

Pete wasn't nice at all, but Gabe gets distracted from that train of thought by Mikey and Gerard's silent communication. "For the record, the staring is creepy. And stop talking about me."

"But you're so interesting," says Gerard. 

"I need to talk to you about you distracting Mikey from work, Gerard. And about sarcasm."

"You're not distracting me," Mikey tells Gerard.

"Really, don't you have any work to do?" Gabe says, but he's still thinking about Pete's unimpressed eyes for Gabe and his wide smile for Mikey, his white teeth and crinkly eyes, and suddenly entertaining himself at the Ways' expense isn't as important.

"Don't _you_ have any work to do?"

He doesn't. "Good point," Gabe says vaguely. "I'm gonna..." He waves in the direction of his office. "I'm gonna go. See you around, Geeway." 

Pete's annoyed expression keeps bugging Gabe all afternoon and evening, long after Mikey and everyone else leaves. Gabe stays at work, turns off the light and rolls his chair up to the window, watching office building lights go out one square after another, replaced by neon signs below them. 

Then it starts to rain, a wet slow drizzle that hangs in the air and clings to the glass like it's terrified of heights. It blurs the lights outside, and Gabe shakes off his lethargy and springs into action. 

The hallway is very dim, illuminated by the light spilling out from above Mikey's deserted desk in the lobby, which is never dark. The light is always shining on the cobra. Gabe makes his way there and tries all the buttons on Mikey's incomprehensible phone setup until he finds the outgoing calls menu. 

Three buttons later, he's dialing and placing an order. It turns out Pete has a late shift. Gabe had a hunch that was the case. Pete has that look about him like he's more comfortable in the dark, late at night when everything seems less real than in the morning.

He knows now that it'll take Pete twenty minutes until he rounds the corner of the block and walks up to the entrance. Gabe stands in front of the window for a while, trying to make out shapes in the street, but with the light in the lobby and the darkness outside he only sees his face mirrored in it, broken up by the globes of raindrops trembling on the other side of the glass.

Instead, he makes rounds down the dim hallways: his business, his kingdom, his joke. Alex's office with Minesweeper still pulled up on the screen, Nate's office where the computer hasn't been turned on in weeks. The filing room by Victoria's office lined with slim manila folders. 

The phone rings softly, which means Pete's downstairs, in the rain by the door that locks after seven. Gabe sprints back to the lobby, picking up the phone on the last ring and jabbing nine to let Pete in. 

He takes one last look at his reflection in the window, smoothing down his tie and jacket, and watches the elevator doors. The chime sounds downstairs, barely distinguishable from the soft tapping of the rain, and something pulls at Gabe's stomach. 

He opens the glass lobby doors, leaning on the half Pete came through last time with his entire body. Pete's eyes narrow as soon as he sees Gabe. His hood is pulled up. It wasn't raining that hard and the raindrops are shivering on the hood and sleeves unabsorbed. 

"Wow," says Pete. "I really can't figure out what you're playing at, but if your goal is to be confusing and an asshole, well done."

"I'm glad you didn't get too wet," Gabe says with a charming smile and motions for Pete to come in. 

Pete squeezes past Gabe and sets the coffee cup on the desk with a thunk. "I was about to clock out when you called."

"But you were still on shift."

Pete sighs. "Yeah."

Gabe takes the cup and gives Pete a once-over. "How did Mikey know your name this afternoon?"

"Sometimes people make an effort and find these things out. Can I go?"

That's just offensive. Gabe makes an effort when he needs something. He just doesn't need anything from Pete. "Sure."

Pete presses the elevator button and raises his eyebrow when Gabe stands next to him. "Do I need a keycard for it or something?"

Gabe shakes his head. "I'm ready to head out, that's all."

Pete presses his lips together but doesn't reply, and the silence is awkward when they get in. Gabe is usually awesome with silences, and the way Pete is deliberately not paying attention to him is exactly like attention, so that makes the silence easier to handle. But he's still almost relieved when the elevator jerks to a halt and his coffee splashes out onto his hand.

Pete's nearly knocked off his feet. He stumbles into Gabe's side, his hoodie leaving a wet print on the sleeve of Gabe's jacket. 

"Whoa," Gabe says, catching Pete around the shoulders and balancing the coffee with his other hand. "Oh, fuck."

"Oh, fuck no," says Pete. "This has got to be a joke."

"This is no joke," Gabe says grimly, examining the cuff of his shirt. "That is my favorite shirt. They don't make it anymore."

Pete makes an incredulous noise and steps away, jerking Gabe's arm loose. "We're stuck in an elevator and you're worried about your shirt?"

He looks really worried and his eyes aren't sad or unimpressed or crinkly - they're frantic. "Hey, dude, it's cool," Gabe says. "We'll just call the mechanic. No big."

"No big to you," Pete mutters and leans into the corner farthest from Gabe, leaving Gabe to deal with the panel of controls. 

"Okay," Gabe whispers. He's not sure there's a mechanic. He's never seen anyone in this office building other than his staff and Pete. But he button's there, shiny instructions all polished, so he hits it. 

It doesn't work. No reply at all. 

"It's eight pm on a Friday," Pete spits from the corner. "Of course no one's there. No one expects anyone to stick around this long in an office building on a Friday night."

"I'm special," Gabe says, thinking fast while pushing the button again. "Hello?"

Pete gives an annoyed huff. 

"Look, I appreciate that this situation is slightly annoying, but it'll be less annoying if you try to stay calm," Gabe suggests reasonably. 

Pete presses his lips together and glares at Gabe. 

"Awesome!" Gabe says brightly. "I'm just going to text Victoria and get her to find someone to get us out."

Gabe's reception is iffy, but a text finally goes through. "See?" he says, shutting the phone down so Victoria can't call him to yell. "That was easy. She always checks her phone."

There's no reply. "Pete?"

Pete doesn't look good. He's pale, breathing shallowly, and there's a wrinkle between his squeezed-shut eyes. 

Gabe's stomach drops. He'd rather look at Pete when he's angry than this. "Claustrophobic?" he asks lightly, setting his coffee cup carefully on the floor and taking Pete's hands in his. Pete's pulse is hammering. "That's okay, dude, just sit down."

Gabe helps Pete slide down onto the floor. Pete pulls his hands away from Gabe's and hugs his knees to his chest, putting his head down onto them. 

Gabe gets on his knees next to him. "Breathe slow."

Pete lifts his head and snarls, "I fucking _know_. Fuck."

"Sorry." Gabe looks around the elevator. "Do you want some water? Well, coffee. There's no water."

Pete flips him a very lethargic bird and starts to shiver. 

"Hey," Gabe says helplessly and inches forward on his knees. Pete's so small, curled up into as close to a ball as possible. Gabe reaches out and slides two fingers under Pete's wrist again. Pete doesn't shake him off, which makes Gabe feel even more helpless. "It's going to be okay."

"Not my first panic attack," Pete mumbles into his knees. 

Gabe mentally says "fuck it" to everything, including his jacket, because it'll never be the same again after the water stains, and wraps his arms around Pete, holding him tight and absorbing his shaking with his body until it subsides and stops. Pete smells good and his hair is soft where his hood slipped down. 

"I hope Victoria isn't on a date," Gabe thinks out loud. "If she's planning on getting laid, she might not come rescue us." 

Maybe Gabe shouldn't have said that, but Pete seems to be reviving, getting a little warmer and shaking a bit less. "Maybe she's on a bad date," Pete mumbles. "Then she'd love to escape, right?"

"Yeah!" says Gabe. "Then it'd be like us doing her a favor."

"Maybe you should've called Mikey. That dude has it together."

Gabe snorts. "That dude is at a show. You can't pry him out of a club on Friday night." 

Pete presses his face into his knees. "Yeah, I've seen him around the scene." 

"I've never run into you anywhere."

Pete groans. "Do I look like I'm capable of small talk right now?"

"Do you want to have dinner with me after we get out of here? We could do small talk then." When Gabe gets home, he's going to look into his own eyes in his very expensive mirror until he figures out what made him say that, and then he will smash his head against the glass.

"Dude," says Pete. "Panic attack."

Gabe pulls away from Pete, stupidly stung. "Yeah. Okay." 

"No offense, man."

"My name's Gabe."

Pete turns his head so Gabe sees a sliver of eye between hoodie and denim. "I know, I heard."

Okay. Gabe examines his sleeves, fruitlessly attempting to brush out the water stains, and inches a little further away from Pete. 

The elevator lurches and Pete shudders like a dog shaking out its coat. Gabe bites back whatever comforting comment his traitor mouth was about to offer and drinks his coffee instead. It's just barely lukewarm but it makes Pete glare at him, and that's good. 

"What are you going to do when we're stuck here overnight and you have to piss?" he says. He's really not very good at conveying sarcasm with his voice, Gabe decides. 

"I have a convenient container right here," Gabe says, shaking the cup in the air. "Delivered by you. Thanks!"

Pete's eyes narrow and then he bursts into a nasal giggle, shoulders shaking. It's awkward and faintly embarrassing like everything about Pete, but it's so him that Gabe listens helplessly and thinks only of making Pete laugh again. 

"You're such a dick," Pete says, but there's nothing mean or frustrated in his voice anymore.

The elevator lurches again, and this time there are audible banging metallic sounds. 

"Whoo," says Pete. 

The next lurch of the elevator drops Gabe's stomach in a second of freefall and the coffee cup tips over, opening down and coffee streaming out in a thin winding line. Gabe jumps to his feet, just a second before he'd have to discard his trousers too. 

"There goes your piss," says Pete. 

"You look better," says Gabe. The tense wrinkle between Pete's eyebrows that was giving Gabe a secondhand headache is gone. 

"It's the prospect of fresh air." Pete scrambles to his feet. "My ass is numb."

Gabe doesn't look at Pete's ass. He looks at the elevator doors. 

When the elevator stops again, it opens its doors with the chime Gabe had never paid much attention to before yesterday and would like to disable now, and there's an overalled, mustachioed mechanic with incongruously well-groomed, shiny hair standing in Gabe's way. 

"I'm going to sue the young lady who called me for emotional distress," says the mechanic. 

"Victoria?" Pete says. "She seemed nice."

The mechanic glares at Pete. 

"She was when you met her, but she doesn't like being distracted from dates," Gabe explains to Pete.

"Nobody does," says the mechanic grimly. 

"Oh," says Gabe, understanding the hair and reaching for his wallet. "Twenty?"

The mechanic swipes the twenty from Gabe's hand, throws both him and Pete a final glare, and stalks off. 

"Sorry, man," Pete calls after him. "Thanks!"

The mechanic slams the side door behind him. Once the echo dies, Gabe looks at Pete again. 

"So how does it feel to know you've ruined two people's evenings?" asks Pete lightly. It's a low fucking blow, and Gabe would be an asshole right back to anyone else, but he can't come up with anything to say now. Pete studies Gabe for a few excruciatingly long moments and then smiles and says, "Hey. I've done..." he shakes his head. "I do so much worse than that every day to people I actually know. Relax."

"I bet that's not true," Gabe says, feeling stupid. 

"Well, you don't know me, so how would you know?"

Outside, it's still drizzling. Pete heads for the door with an awkward wave and a quirk of his lips that's not a smile. 

"Hey!" Gabe says, catching up to Pete in three long strides. "You're not leaving already?"

"As much fun as it is hanging out at your office, man, it's the weekend and I'm done."

"But I felt like we really bonded," says Gabe, inching closer to Pete until Pete's shoulders go tense and then taking one last step closer, getting into Pete's personal space.

"You're so fucking weird, dude," says Pete, forcibly relaxing his shoulders. 

"Can I drive you home?" Gabe asks and snaps his mouth shut. That was not what he was going to say.

Pete turns his face up, taking in the slowly falling rain, and finally shrugs. "Sure, whatever."

The car's a block away. Gabe sneaks glances at Pete as they walk. the rain and wind knocked the rest of the yellowing leaves off the trees, and they clump and stick to the pavement like old wet newspaper. Pete kicks at them idly and then shakes them off his feet. his hunched-over shoulders and his chin pressed to his chest make Gabe's bones ache. By the time they get in the car, Gabe's jacket is damp all over and so's Pete hoodie.

Pete's shivering. "This is not the plan I had for Friday night, for the record," he says. 

Gabe ignores that and cranks up the heat. He's got a sweet ride; the air's blowing dry-hot just a few seconds later and Pete's shivering a little less.

"Where do you live?" Gabe asks. 

"Go straight," says Pete. "I'll direct you."

Gabe was just going to drop Pete off, but there's an open parking spot that's not even in front of the fire hydrant. Pete gives Gabe a look, and Gabe doesn't even realize he's parked and pulled the key out of the ignition until he's standing at Pete's door. 

Pete's apartment is surprisingly nice, not that Gabe thought about where Pete lived or anything. Pete shrugs and waves his hand around when he lets Gabe in. "Bathroom's that way, since you kindly refrained from pissing into the coffee. I need dry clothes." 

The living room is neat and there's cool art on the walls. The glimpse of Pete's bedroom that Gabe can see through the cracked door is tidy too. The bed is made. Gabe tries to make out the pattern on the bedspread until a shadow moves across the wall and there's a thump like heavy fabric hitting the floor. Right. Gabe assesses his current level of staring at creepy and not too subtle and slips into the bathroom, where he totally doesn't go through Pete's cabinets, even though it's a close call. 

By the time Gabe dries his hands and walks out into the living room, Pete's already there, wearing the green hoodie from the day before and hunched over on the couch in a way that reminds Gabe of the way Pete folded in on himself in the elevator. It makes Gabe's chest constrict with an unfamiliar feeling. But Pete's fiddling with his phone, not breathing into his knees, and that's better.

"You have cool art," Gabe says for lack of anything better to say. 

"Thanks," says Pete, putting his phone down and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. "I have talented friends."

Gabe sticks his hands in his pockets too and raises his chin. "These over here, are they all by the same person?"

Pete twists around. "Yeah, those are my friend Tom's."

"They're kind of... grey."

"Grey can be cool." 

Gabe nods.

Pete settles back down onto the couch. "You can sit down or whatever. Wait until the rain ends."

The slow, contemplative way the rain fell felt like it had decided to set in for days of prolonged grey misery, and Gabe's not going to spend days at Pete's apartment, not even if there's cool art everywhere. Not even if there's cool art on his bedroom walls. He wanders along the perimeter of Pete's living room, though, examines every square inch of every photograph and watercolor, oil, and sculpture until he absolutely can't stall anymore. 

When he turns around, Pete's not there. Gabe finds him in the little kitchen off the living room. "Do you eat meat?" Pete asks.

"I'm a vegetarian," Gabe says blankly. "Lapsed vegan, temporarily. Why?"

"Thought so," says Pete, waving a sandwich at him. "Here. You're probably hungry. Sorry about my panic attack."

"That's not..." says Gabe, taking the sandwich mechanically. When someone offers him shit, he takes it. "Shouldn't I be making you dinner? Since I ruined your evening?" As repeats of dinner offers go, it's fairly subtle. Gabe hopes. 

Pete shrugs. "Don't sweat it. I was due for one anyway."

The silence stretches. Gabe eats his sandwich and waits for Pete to speak first like everyone does, because Gabe is the master of awkward silences. But Pete's quiet. 

"Okay then," Gabe says finally. "See you around? I mean," he says, catching himself. "I'll see you around." 

Gabe texts a quick _thnx_ to Victoria stopped at a light on his way home and shuts the phone down again. By the time he gets home, the sandwich has digested enough that the caffeine that had been buzzing in his limbs has settled down and left him exhausted. It's barely midnight, so Gabe slips loose the knot in his tie and hangs up his jacket. He's got hours until his bedtime, plenty of time to clear out his TiVo and kill a bottle of wine. 

Seeing his face in the mirror above the bathroom sink reminds him of how he asked Pete out. Gabe props himself up on the counter on his elbows and buries his face in his hands. If he stays up for hours, he'll think about it for hours. Bed, then. Sleep rejuvenates the weary mind. 

Half an hour later, the memory of Pete is still buzzing at the forefront of his mind like a fly with separation anxiety and Gabe's dragged his hands from inside his boxers five times. He has to declare defeat. The TiVo is 95% full anyway. That makes him twitch. 

The glow and quiet murmur of the TV brings clarity to Gabe's mind by the time 4am rolls around, and he falls asleep in the middle of an episode of The Amazing Race thinking, "I like him, I like him, I like him."

Gabe wakes up groggy but filled with a sense of purpose. He turns on his phone even before he opens his eyes and contemplates who to call. He makes a mental chart. 

Victoria; pros: knows about shit guys pull. Could advise on what shit not to pull. Cons: currently not a fan of Gabe. Sabotage probable. 

Ryland; pros: Bro Code adherent. Has major pick-up mojo. Likely awake. Could help Gabe for sake of amusement. Cons: could sabotage Gabe for sake of amusement. 

Alex; pros: top-notch wooing skills. Cons: currently out of town. 

Nate; pros: good wooing skills. Cons: currently out of town. 

Mikey Way; pros: knows everything. Friends with Pete. Cons: likely asleep.

Gabe's head starts to hurt when he tries to catalogue Travis, because there is too much to say, and just dials Ryland. 

He picks up on the first ring and sounds cheerful, the dick. "Hey, Gabey."

"Ryland, I need your help," says Gabe. His throat feels like gravel and he hacks into the phone until it's clear.

"I am here to help you, of course," says Ryland. 

"Right," says Gabe. "Whatever. Remember that coffee guy?"

"Uh-huh," says Ryland. 

"I got stuck in the elevator with him last night."

"Of course you did." Ryland sounds very patient. "Why were you in an elevator last night?"

"I had to get out of the building somehow. And so did Pete. We're too high up to take the stairs."

"Why were you in the elevator with _Pete_ , Gabe? Didn't you get coffee delivered that afternoon?"

"Yes. I got it delivered again because I have a crush on Pete."

"That was fast," says Ryland. "You've reached self-understanding."

"I know, right? I didn't understand that it was a crush at first."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," says Ryland. "Sometimes I can't tell when you're being a dick for a reason and when you're just being a dick either."

Gabe is touched. "Thanks, Ryland. I knew I could count on you."

"So what do you want?"

"I need advice. From all of you. Can we reschedule the board meeting for Monday happy hour?" Gabe thinks hard. "Wait," he says, preemptively interrupting whatever Ryland was going to say. "I want to ask him out on Monday. Maybe I should be free Monday night so we could have dinner then."

"No, no, no," says Ryland. "You don't want to seem too eager."

Gabe blinks. "But I'm already waiting the whole weekend to ask him out." He probably is. He's almost certainly not going to track Pete down tomorrow. 

"I mean, you can't ask him out on Monday for a date on Monday. That's just trying too hard."

"Wait, seriously?" Gabe asks. 

Ryland laughs, high-pitched and too loud for this hour. "No."

"Fuck you, man." Gabe scratches his belly. "I'll just do what I want."

"You do that," says Ryland. "Follow your heart."

"That is really good advice. I could've given it myself."

"I think you mean you couldn't have said it better yourself."

"No," says Gabe, mouthing both phrases and frowning. "I think I said it the right way."

"Well, thank you for the compliment. Go get him, tiger."

Ryland laughs too loudly for the morning yet again. Gabe hangs up and stares at the ceiling, thinking about Pete's crinkly eyes and then his sad eyes completely against his will, exactly like he's been playing Tetris for too long and can't help rotating the bricks in his head. This is serious. He's not going to find Pete at the coffee shop either today or tomorrow, no matter how vital it seems to figure out how Pete fits into his life. He needs a break.

Gabe holds out for exactly twenty-four hours and then shiftily drives to the office. He looks up coffee shops in the maps app, cursing himself for not looking at the cups Pete had delivered. They probably had the shop name on it, which he could have read if he hadn't been staring at Pete the entire time. And he hadn't even realized he was doing it. He probably would have enjoyed it more if he had. 

Gabe flicks through the list of coffee shops indecisively. They all have appropriately hipster names, too, so he can't even weed out any where he can't imagine Pete working. He's about to give up and call Mikey and brave the mocking he'll have to endure when his gaze lands on his cupholder. Which is still holding the cup from Friday night.

"I am a moron," Gabe says aloud and snatches up the cup. "I am a _moron_."

That he neglected to throw away the cup is another distressing sign that Gabe is hopelessly, unacceptably distracted and needs either a) to track Pete down immediately, or b) a vacation to center himself. 

He opts for (a). A drive-by of the coffee shop is inconclusive. The lights inside are dim and there are people sitting along the windows, and if Pete is there, he's not visible through the layers of glass and hipster. So Gabe parks the car, disposes of the Friday cup with prejudice, and walks into the shop to scope out the joint.

Scoping out the joint doesn't result in immediate success so Gabe has no choice but to approach the counter and order something to stall. The barista on shift is short, but he is not Pete. According to his name tag, he is Patrick, and also he is blond. 

Gabe scans the premises more carefully while Patrick makes him a soy pumpkin latte. Maybe Pete is on break. Despite Gabe's subtlety in keeping his eyes trained directly on the staff door, Patrick still catches Gabe at it and doesn't look impressed. 

Gabe totally plays it cool and waits for fifteen minutes in the car until the end of Pete's theoretical break. 

"Is there a problem?" Patrick asks when Gabe goes back into the shop. Pete remains absent. 

"No," says Gabe. 

Patrick gives Gabe the evil eye. "Another latte?"

Gabe shoots him a wide smile to stall. Unfortunately, no ideas occur to him. "Sure. Another."

Patrick takes Gabe's money but looks steadily at him when Gabe doesn't immediately leave. Gabe briefly contemplates asking Patrick about Pete outright, but Patrick doesn't exactly appear to be in a humoring mood. It's time for a strategic retreat.

Also, Gabe remembers that Pete works afternoons. 

On Monday, Gabe wakes up with entirely unwelcome butterflies in his stomach. He doesn't _do_ butterflies. But they're there like they don't give a shit that Gabe hates them. Gabe doesn't do hate either - hate is antithetical to his conception of the world - but he's making an exception for this.

Gabe drives to work sipping coffee that he made in his very own espresso machine and thinking the entire time that it's definitely not the coffee he would like to be having. 

He stalls in his office the entire morning, and when he comes out to the lobby, Mikey and Gerard are both sitting in Mikey's swivel chair, intently focused on something on Mikey's computer monitor. 

Gabe coughs. 

Mikey tells Gabe, "I already ordered it."

Gabe raises an eyebrow coolly. "I've actually come to speak with you about your job performance."

"No, you haven't."

"Gerard's job performance, then. Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your show? That's tonight, right?"

"Yes and it's none of your business," says Gerard with a guilty air. Gabe knows from procrastination.

"It's really not." Gabe agrees. "I really don't care. But since I'm here, can we talk about why you're sitting in Mikey's lap? This chair is only approved for use by one ass at a time."

"There's a new Maru video," says Mikey. "Don't be a dick."

"Ooh," Gabe totally doesn't say. He sidles behind Mikey's desk and Mikey helpfully scrapes the toe of his boot on the carpet so the chair rolls aside a little bit and makes room for Gabe.

The video is cute. The way Maru stares at the camera reminds Gabe a little of one of Pete's blank looks. Gabe sighs and lowers his head onto Mikey's desk with a thump, much harder than he meant to. 

"Are you okay?" asks Gerard with concern in his voice. 

Gabe turns his head. Both Ways are looking down at him. Gabe blinks and they blink in unison, and for a moment Gabe feels like he's lifted out of his own body and watching the scene from the sidelines, Gabe crouching beside the desk and two grown-ass dudes who are sitting in an swivel office chair watching a cat video on youtube, and that scene is more ridiculous than Gabe can deal with. It's ridiculous enough dealing with his thing for Pete.

The elevator chime calls faintly from downstairs. 

"Okay," says Gabe, straightening up. "Gerard, out. According to the employee handbook, no one can sit on the receptionist during work hours. It's a fire safety issue. Also, you're distracting him."

"You just make up the employee handbook when you feel like it," grumbles Gerard, but he gets up and hugs Mikey goodbye. "Mikes, you're coming tonight, right?"

"Duh," says Mikey. "Alicia's coming too."

"Awesome!" Gerard beams and pulls on his coat. It has giant pockets and buttons and it's cut like Gerard had it made, which he probably had. Gabe has to fight the urge to ask him for his tailor's number. He's never going to go there. This is a promise he made to himself the first time Gerard showed up in a perfectly tailored suit.

He beams at Mikey for a while, until the elevator chimes again and the wrong coffee guy steps out. 

"Hey, Frank!" says Gerard, turning his smile towards the wrong coffee guy. He's also short and dark and wearing a hoodie, but he's not Pete. 

"You're not Pete," Gabe tells the wrong coffee guy, and the blindingly sweet grin Frank shot at Gerard and Mikey dissolves into a scowl. 

"No, I'm Frank." Frank sets the coffee on the table and Mikey slides over a few bucks to him. There's a tattoo peeking out of the collar of Frank's hoodie. This bludgeons Gabe with the thought that Pete might have tattoos too, because why would the similarities between this coffee shop's delivery guys stop at short, dark, and be-hoodied? Or maybe Pete doesn't have any tattoos at all, maybe his skin is a blank canvas for anything Gabe might think to do, or maybe Pete has scars, or freckles, or maybe...

When Gabe comes to, Frank's looking at him like he's been looking for a while and has run out of patience. "Pete and I swapped today. He's at the counter, I'm delivering." 

"Why..." Gabe shakes his head and takes a cup of coffee. "Whatever. Mikey, hold my calls. Gerard, please go away."

"You don't get any calls," says Mikey, but Gabe's already walking to his office to brood. 

Why didn't Pete show? Gabe turns this question around in his head until his coffee is cold. He thought they'd made a connection. Pete maybe didn't get around to _liking_ Gabe, but Gabe totally chipped away at Pete's hostility in the elevator. Now he has to go to the coffee shop to find out. And maybe Gabe will finally catch a break and Patrick won't be there. 

"It's a block past that shoe store you like," Mikey says when Gabe walks out into the lobby, back straight and shoulders pulled back.

"I don't know what you're talking about," says Gabe with dignity and stabs the elevator button. 

Gerard is smoking by the building entrance, well within the no-smoking zone, and looking dreamily at a clump of wet leaves wedged at the foot of the stairway leading to the street. 

"Why is it that every time I see you, you're doing something you're not supposed to be doing, Geewhizzle?" Gabe asks, bumping Gerard's shoulder. "Can I bum a smoke?" 

"Fuck the rules," says Gerard and passes Gabe a cigarette and a lighter. 

Gabe lights up and immediately coughs. "You're a teenager, Gerard." 

"I'm fucking old."

"Nah," says Gabe. "Have you been standing here the entire time? Shouldn't you be picking up your tux from dry cleaning or something?" 

"Don't remind me," says Gerard, twitching his shoulder. "Fuck, life. I spend so much fucking time convinced I'm over it all, and then I get stage fright before my gallery show like I'm still a goddamn kid and it's my first art crit seminar." 

"I know how you feel," says Gabe morosely and throws his cigarette into the wet leaves.

Gerard gasps. "That's it."

"What's it?" Gabe asks warily.

"Fire!" Gerard exclaims and scoops up a pile of leaves. "I gotta go." 

Gabe looks at Gerard's receding, leaf-trailing figure, shuddering all over when Gerard stuffs the leaves into the pockets of his coat.

With Gerard and his cigarette gone, Gabe can't put things off anymore, so he walks over to the coffee shop, acutely aware that the rain is doing terrible things to his hair. Gabe discreetly checks it out in the coffee shop window and winces at the frizz explosion. He's going to have to try harder with Pete since his hair is falling down on the job. 

"It's you again," says Patrick when Gabe walks into the shop. Pete's behind the espresso machine, frozen mid-shot. 

"Hey," says Gabe, ignoring Patrick's deadly stare. 

"Hey," Pete echoes with his eyes trained on the machine.

"You didn't come today. Some other guy brought the coffee." Gabe leans forward on the counter and looks around the machine. Their faces are only a couple of feet apart and Gabe can almost smell Pete's shampoo.

"Can I help you?" Patrick asks.

"We switched today," Pete says quietly, unfreezing a little.

"Stop bugging Pete," says Patrick.

"It's okay," says Pete and starts making the drink Gabe interrupted. 

"Are you mad at me?" Gabe asks. "Look, I'm really sorry I was a jerk to you on Friday."

"You're sorry?" Pete says. "Seriously?"

Gabe blinks. "Why can't I be sorry? I promise I'm not that much of a dick. I haven't really had a chance to demonstrate it, but..."

Pete shakes his head. "Did you forget about the part where I had a panic attack in front of you and ruined your shirt?"

"That was the elevator's fault," Gabe points out. He's confused. "The elevator spilled the coffee. You ruined my jacket. But that was only because I hugged you."

"Because I was having a panic attack."

"Because of the elevator," says Gabe patiently. "And I chose to hug you as an exercise of free will."

"Is stalking Pete an exercise of free will too?" asks Patrick. 

"I am really glad Pete has good friends like you," Gabe tells Patrick sincerely and pulls together his arguments for why he shouldn't be thrown out of the shop, but Patrick only rolls his eyes and takes the next customer's order. 

"Look, what do you want?" asks Pete. "I'm kind of working."

"I want you to have dinner with me," says Gabe. "And not avoid or ignore me. Give me a chance to prove my lack of dickishness."

Pete gives Gabe a long look and Gabe meets his eyes as best he can, letting Pete read what he needs there. It doesn't come easy, but looking into Pete's eyes is compensation enough. 

"What do you say?" Gabe asks quickly before "please" or something equally pathetic escapes his traitor mouth. 

"When?" asks Pete finally. 

"Tonight?" Gabe asks. He hopes Ryland was right and he's not coming off too desperate. 

"Um, I can't tonight," says Pete, his eyes cutting down to the drink he's mixing. Gabe's stomach sinks and he stares numbly at Pete's fingers around the stick. "Here's your latte," Pete tells a customer with a smile that doesn't look very real. "I'm going to Gerard's gallery opening."

"Oh," says Gabe, brightening. "I'm going to that too." 

Technically, he hadn't been _planning_ on it. But Pete doesn't need to know that.

"Oh," says Pete. "It's time for my break."

Patrick sighs when Gabe follows Pete into the break room, but doesn't do anything to stop him, so Gabe figures he's forgiven for his borderline stalking attempts. And another one down. 

"We could go to Gerard's opening together," says Gabe, sitting across the little table from Pete. Here he has a chance to study Pete's face like he hasn't had before, and he takes it, runs his eyes along the set of Pete's mouth and the crow's feet at the corners of Pete's eyes, the fall of hair across Pete's forehead. 

"As, like..." Pete brushes his hair out of his eyes self-consciously.

"Like a date," Gabe says firmly. "I'll pick you up and everything. Fetch you things on toothpicks. Drive you home after. Wait. Are you into guys?"

Pete looks confused. "What kinds of things on toothpicks?"

"Tiny kebabs. Cheese." Gabe shakes his head impatiently. "That's not important. The cheese usually isn't vegetarian. Gerard doesn't understand rennet."

"That sucks."

"Yeah," says Gabe. "But that's not important either. Pete."

Pete closes his mouth and looks at Gabe. Gabe's stomach flips. "Okay."

"Really?" Gabe says. The corners of his mouth are doing something he didn't authorize. He thinks it might be a stupidly wide smile.

Pete's staring at him and Gabe tries to get the smile under control. "Yes. But don't pick me up. I'll meet you there."

"Okay," says Gabe. "Can I drive you home after?"

"If it's a good date."

"If... are you _flirting_?" asks Gabe, fascinated. "With me?"

Pete's cheeks darken. Gabe leans a bit forward. "No, seriously, just tell me, are you just going along with this because of my, like, stick-to-itiveness or do you like me back a little bit?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Pete says and stands up. "My break is over. See you tonight."

Gabe fights back another smile. "I'll wait for you in front of the gallery."

Gabe is forty-five minutes early despite his hairdresser's appointment and a last-minute shoe shine. At least it stopped raining. He stands outside the glass doors of the gallery and watches Gerard pace back and forth between his grotesque sculptures busting out of the walls gesturing at his manager and raiding the tray of non-vegetarian toothpick fare. 

Unfortunately, despite Gerard being the king of obliviousness, he does eventually notice Gabe. Gabe draws back into the shadows, but he's not fast enough. 

"Gabe!" Gerard sounds thrilled, even if he's still twitching like a cokehead. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Would I ever miss a show of yours?" 

"You've been, like, once," says Gerard, switching from beaming to archness and then softening back into a smile in just a few moments.

Gabe pulls at his cuffs. "I'm a busy man." 

"You're a dickhead." 

"I'm working on it. Kind of. Don't tell anyone."

"Yeah?" Gerard pulls out a pack of smokes and rolls one around in his hand. "Any particular reason?"

Gabe shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable, and looks at his watch. At least ten more minutes until anyone will start arriving. 

Gerard shoots Gabe a sharp look and lights up. "Fuck. I'm supposed to quit smoking but this opening is fucking with me."

"Any particular reason?" Gabe asks back meanly. 

"Lung capacity. And..." Gerard bites his lip and Gabe isn't surprised to see that Gerard's trying not to smile because he can fucking hear it in his voice. "I'm going to be a dad. So I have to."

"Huh," says Gabe. Changes. "Fistbump, dude." 

Gabe looks up and down the street while Gerard finishes smoking and quietly smiling. Then Gerard's manager hammers on the glass door, pointing at her watch and making a throat-slitting motion.

"I gotta go, or Lauren's going to kill me. Do you want any cheese or anything? Why are you here so early, anyway?"

"I can't have any of your cheese, Gerard. And it's a secret."

"You want in Pete's pants," Gerard nods. 

"Shut up, Gerard," Gabe says, his cheeks heating up. 

Gerard makes an obnoxious face at Gabe and waltzes inside. Without Gerard to distract him, the minutes are slow, even though Lauren kicks up the latches in the doors and people start slowly trickling in, dark coats and scarves and ties and shoes that are definitely not as shiny as Gabe's. Mikey walks by with Alicia and Lindsey and all of them give Gabe a wave but mercifully don't stop to chat. 

Pete doesn't show for a while, and the butterflies resume their nesting in Gabe's stomach until Pete turns the corner. Pete looks _hot_. Gabe's not really in the habit of thinking of guys as hot, but there's no other word for it. His trousers and shoes are sharp and his coat is amazing, and...

"You got a haircut," Gabe says numbly when Pete walks up to him and awkwardly fiddles his hands. The clothes are different but Pete is not. 

"Hey. So did you." 

Pete's awkwardness must be contagious, because Gabe's not sure what to say now. Pete's bangs are gone and his face looks so open despite Pete's still-cautious expression. 

Instead of finding out what Pete's eyes would look like after a thorough kiss, Gabe throws a look at the glass doors. The gallery is pretty full now. Gerard and people with snacks are circling around. 

"So those are the toothpick trays," says Gabe, picking something like in a game of I Spy. "Want to go check them out?" 

Pete nods. Gabe opens the door for him, leaning in to keep the heavy glass from hitting Pete, and has a moment of deja vu to the first time he saw Pete walk through a glass door, all alone and trying to juggle more things than he should've. It's better now that Gabe's doing what he should have done from the start.

Inside, Gabe takes Pete's coat and checks it along with his own. When he gets back, Pete's staring wide-eyed at a monstrous slavering _thing_ erupting out of a wall, all sharp dangerous-looking glass and metal. Gabe is glad he keeps up on his shots.

"Gerard did that?" Pete says. 

"He's got a twisted imagination," says Gabe dumbly. Pete's wearing a tux. It fits really well. Gabe wants to kiss Pete very carefully while he is wearing it, then remove it and neatly hang it up before they go to bed. "Never let him talk at you unsupervised. I made that mistake once and I'll never be the same again."

"And he seems so pleasant." Pete takes Gabe's hand and walks him around the gallery. There are more slavering beast things around in between little paintings and big bright posters. Gabe doesn't notice most of them. 20% of his brain is occupied with wondering how the slavering beasts fit inside the walls in order to then erupt out of them, because those walls are the thin divider deals for fitting more art into a space. He suspects he's missing the point, but the other 80% of his brain is occupied with the sensation of Pete's hand in his. 

"This one's so fucking sad," says Pete, stopping in front of a beast with something blue and drooping hanging from its maw. "Man, I wish this fit in my apartment."

The price tags on the beast things are horrifying even to Gabe, who is not hurting for money, but he's noticed in between staring at Pete that he doesn't seem to be hurting for money either. "Do you do anything aside from delivering coffee?" Gabe asks.

Pete shrugs one shoulder. "I write. Come on, let's look at those little ones."

Gabe looks down at the curve of Pete's cheek and the corner of Pete's mouth while Pete looks at small weird paintings that look like the inside of Gerard's brain. "What do you write?"

"Lyrics, music. Poetry." Pete hunches down a little bit. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"But I want to know everything about you."

Mikey shuffles up to them before Pete can reply with anything but a sharp look up at Gabe. 

"What do you think?" Mikey asks. He has four toothpicks of skewered cheese fanning out between his fingers. 

"I think you look like Wolverine," says Gabe. 

Mikey flips him off without dropping any of the cheese. 

"Gerard is really talented," says Pete. "I want one of the monsters. The sad one. I'd call it Grover."

Mikey honks out a giggle. "I know, right? I wanted to buy one and install it in the bedroom, but Alicia vetoed it."

Gabe is secretly with Alicia. He doesn't want to see, like, moonlight glinting off Grover's fangs when he goes for a 3 am piss. Also, if he kissed Pete up against the wall with Grover, Pete could get strange monster-shaped bruises on his back or even scratches from the fangs, and Gabe doesn't want Pete to get bruised or scratched. He thinks. 

Pete says, "Hey," and squeezes Gabe's hand. "You're thinking hard."

"I was thinking about bruises," Gabe says mechanically. 

Mikey's eyebrow twitches a little. 

Pete's lips quirk up. "Oh really?"

Gabe staves off a blush. " _Monster_ bruises," he says blandly. "Those are not house-safe materials. Your landlord would not approve."

"I own, actually," says Pete and leans in to look at the price tag on the painting Gabe likes the best, something pink and orange like the desert. "I think I want that one. How do I buy one, Mikey?"

"Go talk to Lauren." Mikey jerks a hand in the direction of Gerard's manager, who's standing two feet away from Gerard holding a clipboard and looking smug.

Pete wanders off to talk to Lauren and Gerard and Gabe leans against a wall, watching him smile and gesture. Mikey gently moves Gabe a few inches to the right so he's not jostling the artwork. 

"So, you and Pete, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," says Gabe. "Do you think I should buy him a monster?"

"That's more of an anniversary gift, Gabe, not a just-because one."

Gabe knows Mikey is right, because Mikey's been married for years and knows about these things. "First anniversary?"

Mikey squeezes Gabe's shoulder. "Just take it one day at a time, dude."

"I hope he wants to date me for at least a year," says Gabe, taking out his phone and programming their anniversary into the calendar. Maybe he's jinxing it, but he has control over his behavior and can fight the jinx back, whereas he won't be able to fight his memory if it decides to forget the anniversary of their first date. "What?" he says defensively when he sees Mikey's look.

Mikey shakes his head. "I'm going over to Alicia. Chill, Gabe. Don't scare him off."

Mikey knows how to make an exit, horror-movie style. Gabe rubs the back of his neck and fights the urge to go over to Pete now while he evaluates the options. Would it scare Pete off? Probably not. If Pete wasn't scared off by the coffee and the elevator and the coffee shop visit, which he definitely wasn't because now they're on a _date_ \- Gabe is still not over it - he won't be scared off by Gabe hanging out near him.

Pete smiles at Gabe when Gabe finally comes over, that wide white-toothed smile with the laugh lines and crinkly eyes that takes Gabe's breath away. 

"Hi," says Gabe, smiling back, and they get stuck in a feedback loop of smiles until Lauren coughs, puts a receipt in Pete's hand, and turns away to see why Gerard is tugging on her sleeve.

"I can pick it up at the end of the evening," Pete says. 

"So I can't take you home and kiss you by your door yet?"

It was meant to be a totally chill joke, but Pete's eyes go a little round. 

"I would be very gentlemanly," Gabe adds anxiously.

"They'll let me pick it up tomorrow," says Pete and tugs Gabe in the direction of the coat check with a last longing look at the metal monsters.

Pete's sleeve rides up when he wraps his scarf around his neck and Gabe's mouth goes dry.

"You have a tattoo."

Pete buttons up his coat. The wrist tattoo is still showing. "Yeah."

"Can I..." Gabe says and flexes his hand. His fingers are tingling. 

Pete looks up at Gabe and he's not smiling or wary, just calm and serious, Gabe thinks. Those aren't things he feels a lot. 

Gabe looks around. The girl staffing the cloak room is curled up behind the counter with her face buried in her e-reader and there's no one else here, just a rumble of conversation carrying through from the gallery with Gerard's voice easily cutting through. 

"I don't care," says Gabe and touches Pete's wrist. It's warm. The tattoo looks almost blue against Pete's skin and doesn't feel any different than the unmarked skin around it, but Gabe brings his mouth down to it anyway, brushing his lips across the tattoo. Gabe could feel Pete's _pulse_ against his lips if his own weren't going haywire.

Pete's fingers twitch, touching Gabe's cheek, and Gabe opens his eyes. There's tension in the set of Pete's mouth. Pete takes his hand away and Gabe's ready to apologize when Pete's hand returns and Pete draws Gabe down. 

Pete doesn't kiss politely at all. It's a dirty hook-up kiss that Gabe didn't expect and it takes him a few moments to get with the program. When he does, hooking his hand firmly around the back of Pete's neck and tilting Pete's head back, pushing his tongue into Pete's mouth, Pete sighs raggedly and lets Gabe do it. 

"Let's go," Pete says when Gabe pulls away to breathe. 

"Yeah," Gabe says. His hands are shaking a little. He takes Pete's hand for steadiness and then slips his hand higher, to circle Pete's wrist where the tattoo is. 

"Is that your only one?" Gabe asks when they're outside. The rain had started up while they were at the show, the same steady hovering of mist as before. The headlights of the cars driving past are scattered like tractor beams and the pavement is slick with stuck wet leaves.

Pete turns his face into the rain. He's a little red, and Gabe remembers how warm Pete's skin felt when Gabe touched him. 

"Not by a long shot," Pete says with a thread of humor in his voice. It's the same monotone as before, but Gabe's learned to pick out other things in it. Maybe not everyone can do that. Not like him, anyway. 

"Time to go," Gabe says. It's time to stop being stupid and embrace liking Pete. Pete's worth it.

Pete lets Gabe tug him to the car. He slides low in the seat and laughs when Gabe pulls out of the parking spot at an ill-advised speed. Gabe grins at him and takes the turn towards Pete's side of town. He was paying a lot of attention the last time he drove Pete home. 

"So what'd you think of the show?" Pete asks. 

"It was really visceral," Gabe says, picking an adjective at random. 

Pete snorts. "And you went with me anyway. You really do like me."

Gabe grins again, showing his teeth, and ignores the unconvincing casualness in Pete's voice. "Technically, you went with me. I asked you out."

Pete makes a quiet noise of agreement instead of a bullshitting riposte, so Gabe bites his lip and decides to get a car with automatic transmission so that in the future he can hold Pete's hand when he's driving. 

"What kind of car do you have?" Gabe asks just in case. "Is it a stick shift?"

"No," says Pete, like he knows Gabe's question was perfectly logical. 

"Good." Maybe the automatic transmission can wait, if Pete drives half the time. Or they could walk places - Pete's neighborhood is very walkable. Gabe googled its walkability rating on Sunday. 

Pete's building is already so achingly familiar Gabe never wants to be anywhere else, or maybe wants to run away from it forever. But they're both here in the car, and Gabe can take Pete's hand like he wanted. 

Before he can, Pete removes his seat belt and leans over the gear shift. He cups Gabe's face and pulls him down, surging up to meet him until their mouths connect. It makes something melt under Gabe's skin, and he shakes from how warm it is. 

The way Pete let Gabe take charge before makes Gabe hungry and hot under his skin, so he wraps his arms around Pete's shoulders and holds him close as Pete goes pliant and willing under Gabe's mouth. 

"You make me so fucking hard," Pete says, pulling away and panting into Gabe's neck. "You asshole."

"Really?" Gabe asks. Not kissing Pete hurts, and everything that's happened in the last few days is still confusing to him. "I mean, good. Me too." 

It's true. Gabe's still not totally sure what he wants to do with Pete unless the wild _everything_ spiraling in his mind is an option, and he needs Pete to be on board with that first. 

Pete rolls his eyes. Gabe knows this because Pete's eyelashes drag and catch on the skin of Gabe's neck. His fingers thread into Pete's hair of their own accord. "Come upstairs."

Gabe somehow makes it upstairs without walking into anything, maybe because Pete holds his hand the whole time like he'd guessed that's what Gabe wanted to do all along, and presses Pete to his heavy door, keeping a hand between Pete and the doorknob so it doesn't dig into Pete's side. The wool of Pete's coat is warm and moist and scratchy under Gabe's hand, anchoring him. Gabe's heart is hammering.

"You gonna kiss me?" Pete asks quietly, sliding his hands inside Gabe's coat and jacket to the cotton of his shirt. It's so close. 

"We're not going too fast?" Gabe says with his eyes squeezed shut and building embarrassment at himself.

Pete drags his hand out of Gabe's clothing to root around in his own coat pocket and Gabe can hear the muffled jangling of keys. "Just making out on the couch. Is that too fast?"

Gabe keeps his body pressed close to Pete's while Pete twists around to get the key in the door. "That's not too fast, I guess." 

"Awesome," Pete says happily. The door gives and they almost fall in, clutching at each other, and Pete brays a laugh, the loudest, happiest in Gabe's presence so far. "Take your coat off." 

Pete hangs up his own coat and shrugs out of the tux jacket, throwing it on the arm of a chair in the corner. Gabe cringes but manfully ignores it, because there will be a time when it will be okay to hang up Pete's clothes, but it isn't now. Mikey would probably tell Gabe to chill if Gabe tried it. 

"Take your coat off," says Pete, kicking his shoes off and sprawling on the couch, legs spread wide. Gabe stares and Pete ducks his head and then raises his chin stubbornly when he remembers that there's no hood to hide under and that he chopped off his bangs. It makes Gabe smile through the beating of his heart and the sudden heat in his pulse. 

Gabe hangs his coat up next to Pete's. They match, falling in dark folds in the dim hallway. Gabe closes his eyes and then opens them again. The coats are still there and there's a tense silence behind him. Pete's waiting. Gabe shouldn't make Pete wait or let him start wondering what Gabe's thinking, so he turns around. 

"Coming?" Pete asks, clearly aiming for a light tone and falling way short of it. Gabe can't really see his face, just the gleaming whiteness of his shirt and the darkness of his eyes and hair. 

Gabe hangs his jacket up on the back of a chair and joins Pete on the couch, bracing himself on one knee and hand and stretching over Pete's body until he can feel the heat of it against his chest and the warm presence of Pete's cheek under his lips.

"Don't make me wait," Pete whispers. "You keep taking forever to get anywhere when you don't even want to stall. Uncool."

Gabe bridges the inch of distance between them and kisses Pete, just missing his mouth. There's a hint of stubble under his lips, rough and scratchy, and Gabe makes an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and drags his lips to Pete's. Pete grabs Gabe's hair and holds him close as Gabe kisses him, biting Pete's bottom lip and pushing his tongue into Pete's mouth. 

"Gabe," Pete gasps and spreads his legs wider, pushing up his hips. He's hot and hard and big against Gabe's thigh, and Gabe feels himself start unpleasantly spinning out of control.

"Hey, he knows my name," Gabe stalls, faking confidence as best he can. He's very, very fucking good at it. 

Pete grins back and throws his head back. The column of his throat is pale and streaked with shadows and spots of color from the yellow-blue-green city night outside. Gabe puts his mouth there, biting gently down on Pete's throat, and Pete shudders. It reverberates all through Gabe's body down to the bone, squeezes his lungs and _hurts_ , and Gabe squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down into the crook of Pete's neck.

"Gabe," Pete says, tugging on his carefully arranged hair. "Gabe." 

Gabe blinks while Pete still can't see and sits up. "What's up?"

Pete slides his hands down, cupping Gabe's cheeks with his thumbs at the corners of Gabe's eyes, and looks at him quietly. "Something's up with you. You should just tell me."

Gabe avoids Pete's eyes by studying the crow's feet around them. He needs to make Pete laugh and smile all the time so they stand out more, and he's fucking that up right now. 

"Gabe," says Pete. It still hurts, the way Pete just started saying it when Gabe wasn't at his best. Gabe was ready to hear it, just not at that exact moment.

"Sorry, sorry," Gabe says. "I just..."

Pete draws a little line on Gabe's skin with the edge of his thumbnail. "It's okay, dude."

Gabe drops his eyes so he can't see Pete's face at all and circles a button on Pete's chest with his finger. "Maybe I should go." His dick's kind of lost interest while Gabe was freaking out. He's not freaking out anymore, but he needs to go home and stare at the ceiling. That seems pretty imperative right now. 

"Like forever go, or just tonight go?" Pete asks lightly. 

Gabe snaps his head up. Pete's eyes are shadowed and wary and Gabe could really punch himself in the mouth right now. Maybe he could call Travie. Travie would punch him if Gabe asked without asking any questions. That's love. 

"Just tonight," Gabe says. "I promise." 

"Give me your phone," says Pete. 

Gabe fishes it out of his pocket and Pete fiddles with it intently until something buzzes in his pants. "There," he says. "Numbers exchanged like the normal people we pretend we are. Don't make me deliver your coffee tomorrow."

"But I'll want to see you tomorrow," says Gabe. 

Pete tucks Gabe's phone into Gabe's back pocket and Gabe feels his face heat up. "You'll see me tomorrow."

Gabe starts kicking himself the moment he walks out of Pete's building. The rain cools his hot face, and Gabe hurries to the car, climbing in and throwing his head back onto the headrest, remembering how Pete kissed him goodbye on the doorstep, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and shoved him out of the apartment. Gabe is a moron. For a while there he thought that it was all Pete's fault, but it's all Gabe's stupidity. Pete's just a magnet for it. 

Gabe thinks about texting Pete a question about his magnetic properties, but in the end that's still putting the blame on Pete. Pete didn't do this. Instead, Gabe texts, _Good night_ , and stoically doesn't check his phone for a return text for three whole stoplights until the pressure in his chest builds back up to a painful level. Pete's text just says _Better with you but I'll live._

Gabe stares at the ceiling for at least a couple of hours until he falls asleep, one finger resting lightly on his phone, but every text notification is from someone he doesn't want to talk to. And that... that _sucks_ , he thinks. He doesn't want this to be tomorrow night, too.

In the morning, he puts on his favorite suit, spends three times longer on his hair than normal, and drives to work with a lot of purpose. Board meeting and then Pete. It's going to be good. 

"Don't order coffee today, Mikey," Gabe tells Mikey, striding through the door only fifteen minutes late. "You can't do that when you start dating the coffee delivery guy."

"Miss Manners finally replied, huh?" says Mikey, tapping at the keyboard like he's busy. Gabe knows he only skulked in three minutes earlier. "You have phone calls. Miraculously."

"I accept criticism of my behavior," says Gabe and walks quickly to his office before Mikey can reply. 

"Since when?" says Victoria, appearing out of nowhere and catching up to Gabe. Sometimes Gabe is grateful for his sharp team. Hallway walk-and-talks about Gabe's failings are not those times. 

"Since I'll tell you tonight. Don't be so fucking nosy." Gabe runs a hand through his hair, glancing at his reflection in his office door before opening it. He looks _good_. He hopes Pete agrees.

"You're lowering the quality of the advice you'll get when you say shit like that, you know," says Victoria, tossing her hair and following him inside the office.

"Maybe I don't need advice," says Gabe. "Wait."

He taps his fingers on his desk, leaving just barely visible smudges, and the gears in his head click into place. That's it. He doesn't need advice. "You're a genius, Vicky-T. I don't need any shitty advice." 

Victoria hops up onto Gabe's desk and swings her legs. "Digging yourself in deeper, there. Is this your way of avoiding the board meeting to get laid?"

Gabe adjusts his tie and gives Victoria a quick shove. She slides off the desk with a squawk and glares at him. "I'll have you know, I could've gotten laid last night if I wanted to. This is about love."

"Uh-huh." Victoria looks at him assessingly, regaining her balance and haughtily straightening her shoulders. "You need our fucking advice, Gabriel. Don't you dare skip that meeting."

"You'll see," says Gabe. He sits at his desk and puts his feet up. "I got this."

Victoria rolls her eyes but gets out of his office. Gabe counts to five to make sure she's really gone and sets his phone on his desk. If it vibrates, he'll hear. 

Gabe loses the first text battle around noon and is pathetically happy he does, because Pete replies within two seconds of Gabe sending a casual opener. Gabe spins the phone around on the table, keeping it from spiraling off with a finger on the display as he counts off a one-two-three of not caring too much. He loses that one too, and texts, _I'm not used to people liking me so fast._

Pete's reply is, _liar liar_. Gabe frowns and flicks the phone off, then texts back a dumb joke, because confessing things in the dark is one thing and providing evidence against yourself in text in broad daylight is another deal entirely. 

Gabe goes through the day without having coffee or texting Pete too much, and by the time the board meeting rolls around, he's ready to leave the office. Something has to be done. The 3pm slump is something that happens to other people. He's never been other people. 

"Let's get this over with," says Gabe, throwing himself into the booth at the bar. 

"I call this meeting to order," says Alex. "Nate, please strike Gabe's absence from the minutes."

"I'm not keeping minutes," says Nate. 

"When did you two even get here?" Gabe asks, wrinkling his nose and blotting a spill in front of him with a stack of napkins. Uncool. "You haven't been at work in days. You're supposed to be on the other side of the country."

"We can't skip a board meeting," says Alex. 

"Especially not an emergency one," says Ryland and waves at a waitress. "Certainly not one you called to amend our mission statement to help you get laid. A pitcher for the table, please."

"That wasn't why... oh, whatever." Gabe follows the waitress's trek around the bar and return with the pitcher and takes a big swallow of his beer when she finally sets it down on the table. "We're not amending the mission statement."

Ryland flips through his leather-bound folder. "Thursday, four twelve pee em, 'add pulling pigtails of delivery people to mission statement.' Did you or did you not request I write this down?"

Gabe gives Ryland a measured look. "There is only one delivery person for me now."

"We know," says Victoria in a resigned voice. "Are you already thinking about adopting dogs?"

Gabe adjusts his cuffs. "That would be the opposite of being chill, Victoria, which I totally am." They can't adopt dogs until they buy a house with a yard, anyway.

"My mom found a stray kitten on her porch last week," says Alex. "You want?"

"Give me your mom's number," Gabe says, pulling out his phone and waggling his eyebrows.

"Never mind all that," says Victoria, talking over Alex. "Why didn't you get laid last night? Did you fuck up?"

"It's okay not to have sex, Victoria," Gabe tells her, and she stares at him like she can see through all his shit. "I just didn't feel like it. I didn't fuck up. He likes me and shit."

"That's new," says Ryland. 

Gabe can't help throwing him a hurt look. Ryland raises his hands. "Dude, chill, I just meant that you usually don't just go out and _say_ that four days after meeting someone."

Gabe feels his lips twist. "He's really... I don't know. I feel like I know him. Or, no." He shakes his head and looks down at the table to avoid their eyes. "He knows me. He looks at me and I know that."

"So you didn't fuck up," says Victoria. 

"Thank you," says Gabe.

"You're just kind of a fuck-up." 

"Fuck you," says Gabe without any force behind it.

Victoria pats his hand across the table. "I say it with love." 

"You have to own your feelings instead of running away from them," says Ryland.

"It's impressive the way you say that like you have a lot of experience with feelings," says Gabe. "I will make a note of it for your performance review."

"Next round is on you in advance of your promotion," says Nate, raising his glass at Ryland. 

Gabe taps his fingers on the table and wipes the condensation off his beer with his thumb. "I really like him," he hears himself say. "I just really--" He looks around the table. "I have to go."

"You need a condom?" asks Victoria and opens her purse.

"Ew, no," Gabe says. 

"Safe sex is sexy," says Ryland. 

"I can handle the sex part, guys," says Gabe, raising his voice. 

"Don't knock him up," says Alex. 

"That is physically impossible," says Gabe loudly. "We're going to adopt. If everything works out and shit. Okay, bye."

Gabe shimmies out of the booth and strides purposefully to the door, which just makes Victoria laugh behind him, but he ignores her like the bigger person he is.

The drive to Pete's is familiar by now. Gabe rolls the window down to cool his face. He only had half of his beer, but the moment he makes the last turn and Pete's building comes into view, he feels like he had at least four times as much. 

He parks below where he thinks Pete's window might be and looks up. His hands itch for some pebbles to throw at it like a kid in a book. He's not even sure which of the windows is Pete's; they're all uniformly dark. Gabe's never been in Pete's bedroom, either. Maybe there's a tell he doesn't know about, a sign that makes it Pete's.

Inside, Gabe eyes the elevator and takes the stairs instead. He's not going to leave tonight, but if he needs an extra moment to collect himself, that's okay. No one can see it in this stairwell. Halfway up he takes the stairs two at a time anyway, and the door slams behind him when he steps out onto Pete's landing. 

Gabe takes a deep breath and raises his hand to knock, but Pete opens the door before his fist touches the door. He's got the lights on and Gabe sees his face so clearly. "Hi," Gabe says, trying for a charming smile. 

Pete looks at him solemnly for a second and then his eyes crinkle at the corners. "You're earlier than I thought."

"I can come back," Gabe offers. He's pretty sure Pete won't take him up on that, now. 

Pete steps aside and waves Gabe in. Gabe hooks a finger into the cuff of Pete's hoodie, green this time, and finds the tendon in Pete's wrist. 

"Hungry?" asks Pete. "I have a variety of frozen cuisine."

"No," says Gabe and bends down to kiss him. Pete's pulse picks up under Gabe's thumb. "I just want you. Sorry I ran away."

"No problem." Pete undoes the buttons on Gabe's jacket and Gabe shrugs out of it, toeing off his shoes at the same time. "You want me to hang that up, right?"

"Right," Gabe echoes and chases Pete's mouth for a second kiss. 

"You're not a trail of clothing on the floor guy, that's cool," Pete says, ducking under Gabe's arm to drape the jacket over the arm of the couch. "I am, but we can just throw my pants on the floor."

"Okay," Gabe breathes and tips Pete back onto the couch. Pete lands with a huff and Gabe follows him like the night before, the memory hitting him with dizzying vertigo. "Last night I thought you were like a magnet."

Pete blinks and starts to unzip his hoodie. "Like attraction?"

"Like everything dumb in me comes to the surface when I'm around you." Gabe draws his thumbs down Pete's chest, two creases in the fabric of Pete's t-shirt. 

Pete squirms under him, trying to get the hoodie off, and this time it's all the niceness of before without the terror. "I think that when I get maudlin. Except it's my own fucking dumbness. You're not helping."

"Tell me more," says Gabe, nosing down into Pete's armpit where the fabric's bunched up. He bites. 

Pete gasps and drags Gabe up by the hair. "Good shit, bad shit, anywhere I go it happens to me and I don't have a hand in it." Pete bites the ball of Gabe's thumb and rolls his eyes. "Then I go out the other side and decide I just cause all of it directly. Tell me which is less fucked up."

Gabe shakes his head and kisses Pete's neck as Pete finally writhes out of the hoodie and throws it on the floor. "I'm a shitty judge of fucked up." 

"Aren't we all," says Pete with a bite of humor and slides his fingers up to the knot of Gabe's tie. "I can't get that off blind. Sit up." 

Gabe scrapes his teeth up Pete's neck and licks the spot before sitting up, and then he feels like he's been punched. Pete's sprawled out under him, lips wet and dark, and his arms outstretched, his fingers still on Gabe's tie, and there's a tattoo wrapping around his bicep, around his _arm_ , and another peeking out where his t-shirt is rucked up on his belly.

"Um," says Gabe as Pete loosens the tie and slides it out. The rasp of silk on cotton is loud and so's the rushing of blood in Gabe's ears. Gabe doesn't even intercept the tie when Pete lets go and it falls on top of the hoodie in a bright coil. "You have a sleeve."

Pete gives Gabe a crooked smile and stretches ever so slightly. His t-shirt rides up even more. 

"What's on your stomach?" Gabe asks, rubbing his finger along the hem of the shirt. 

Pete undoes his belt buckle with a clink and tugs his zipper down, then sets his hands on top of Gabe's. Gabe doesn't breathe, just lets Pete direct them to Pete's fly, tug it apart and ease Pete's briefs low on his hips until the tattoo is there, nearly completely exposed, with a line of dark hair running down the middle of it.

Gabe traces its lines with his forefinger. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a bartskull."

"A what?"

"It's... it's a bartskull. I don't actually know how else to explain it." Pete's stomach rises and falls; Gabe can hear Pete's breathing quicken. 

"Do something," says Pete. "Please."

Gabe leans down and kisses the heart in the middle of Pete's belly, a wet sucking kiss that makes Pete gasp and his hands fly up to Gabe's shoulders.

Gabe grins, getting his bearings, and pushes Pete's t-shirt up, exposing warm skin and following it with his mouth. He tugs at the shirt until Pete gets the hint and raises his arms, stretching them out over his head, suspended over the arm of the couch. Gabe knees Pete's legs further apart and lifts the shirt over Pete's head. 

Pete's breathing picks up and so does Gabe's. "You can't hide that under hoodies," Gabe says, brushing his finger over the thorn collar. 

"I like hoodies." Pete arches up, muscles flexing. "Why is your shirt still on?"

Gabe undoes his buttons, focusing hard on keeping his hands steady under Pete's intent, dark look. Pete's arms twitch like he wants to help, but he keeps them folded. It makes something twist in Gabe's chest and his hands slip on his cufflink, sending it skittering across the floor. "Shit."

"We'll find it later," says Pete. "Take it off."

Gabe puts his shirt on the floor with a nod to folding it and settles on top of Pete, circling Pete's wrists and covering Pete's mouth with his own. Pete opens for him, willing and easy, responding to Gabe's every movement and sucking on Gabe's tongue. 

"I want to have sex, just to be clear," Gabe says when he pulls away to breathe. "I decided that right after I left yesterday."

Pete nods and mouths the edge of Gabe's jaw. "Just to be clear, okay."

Gabe nods and kisses Pete some more, shivering when Pete bucks his hips and wraps his legs around Gabe's waist. The teeth of Pete's open zipper scrape along Gabe's stomach and catch on the buckle of Gabe's belt. 

Pete pulls against Gabe's grip on his wrists. "Let me undress you." He keeps his eyes on Gabe's as he slides the belt out the loops and pulls down Gabe's zipper. There's a smile on his lips and there's nothing intimidating about it at all, not even when Pete sticks his hands down the back of Gabe's pants and tilts his hips up. His erection brushes Gabe's, hot even through two pairs of briefs. Gabe feels warm all over, not desperate to fuck yet but getting there. 

He's not holding Pete's wrists anymore, though thinking about it makes heat coil inside him, and it means that he's free to touch Pete anywhere. He nuzzles the side of Pete's face, squeezing his eyes shut just to be sure Pete doesn't see his expression, and takes a deep breath before reaching down into the vee of Pete's open fly. 

Pete hisses when Gabe touches him, just the reaction Gabe needs to decide to go for it. He grips Pete through the briefs and watches Pete's eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open. "You--" Gabe says without knowing where he's going with it. "You like that."

"I have a dick, so yeah," Pete says, catching his breath. "Are we gonna fuck here?"

Gabe bites his lip and strokes Pete firmly. "Point. And point. You want to show me your etchings? Do you have more of those grey photos in your bedroom?" 

Pete grins and Gabe kisses his smile. "Yes," says Pete, shoving Gabe off. "On my ceiling."

Gabe makes a face and jumps up, shimmying off his pants and picking up his shirt and tie off the floor. "Dibs on being on top."

"I was counting on it," says Pete, rolling off the couch and jumping to his feet in one smooth movement. His jeans are gaping at the fly and the curve of his dick is big and obvious. 

"Oh," says Gabe and fiddles with the clothes in his hands. "Yeah. Do you have a hanger?"

Pete's lips quirk. "Sure. In the bedroom."

Gabe watches Pete's ass move in his sagging jeans the entire short walk to Pete's bedroom, past a row of confusing watercolor miniatures and flat hanging sculptures that Gerard would probably have opinions about. 

Pete swings open the bedroom door. It's dark, only a broken-up diamond of diffuse light spilling through the window onto the bed and the floor. Gabe touches Pete's side in the doorway and Pete turns to him. He's smiling, Gabe knows, because Gabe can see the flash of his teeth. 

"Lights on or off?" Pete asks knowingly. "Pick your poison."

"Not overhead lights," says Gabe. He wants to see Pete, learn where to touch him best, but his eyes are already adjusted to the half-darkness.

"I got you." Pete crosses the room in a winding pattern that seems to indicate stuff lying on the floor, and Gabe doesn't even care. The light comes on, soft and mellow under the lampshade. Gabe looks around Pete's bedroom, which is encouragingly bereft of grey photographs and encouragingly in possession of an unmade, inviting-looking bed, while Pete opens the closet and gets out an assortment of hangers.

"Thanks," Gabe mutters. Pete keeps his eyes trained on him as Gabe turns to hang everything up next to Pete's clothes in the closet, the intimacy of it making his heart beat funny, and when Gabe turns back, Pete is stepping out of his jeans. 

Gabe swallows and Pete gives him a little smile and peels off his briefs. His cock springs free, curving up against his belly. It's a little weird, being in the same room as another hard dick, but it's _Pete's_ , so Gabe really wants to touch it just like he wants to touch the rest of Pete.

Pete looks at him expectantly, so Gabe hooks his thumbs into the band of his underwear, still looking at Pete's dick. His brain's flipping through options on what he can do with it without his input. "Can you handle it?"

Pete laughs his stupid laugh that Gabe doesn't want to live without anymore. "Hit me."

Gabe gives him his best, sunniest, most practiced smile and slides off his CKs. Pete's eyes widen and he licks his lips, and Gabe is _done_. He grabs Pete's waist and tugs him to the bed, kissing him long and deep. He can't let go. 

"Yes, _yes_ , fuck," Pete whispers between kisses that he makes more and more aggressive, until Gabe has to tip Pete over onto the sheets and take control of the kiss. Pete makes a high, choking sound, spreading his legs just like he did on the couch, and Gabe pushes down with his hips. 

"You should fuck me," Pete says in Gabe's ear. "And you better feel fucking special because I don't do that a lot." 

"Sure," says Gabe faintly. He's pretty sure he can figure it out. It has to be easier than going down on Pete, which was his other idea. He'll have to practice that ahead of time. He wraps his hand around Pete's dick first, though, gives it a stroke the way he himself likes it, and Pete groans and digs his heel into the back of Gabe's calf. 

"Like that," Pete says and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just like that." 

Gabe jacks Pete and kisses his shoulders and the wrinkles around his eyes until Pete starts shuddering jerkily under him, and then Gabe takes his hand away.

Pete heaves a sigh, his chest rising and falling. Gabe puts his hands on the thorns around Pete's neck, traces them, spreading the moisture on his fingers and kissing it away. "Now?" 

"Now," Pete confirms. "Right the fuck now. The stuff's in the drawer."

There's an unopened box of condoms staring at Gabe right as he opens the drawer. He laughs and rummages around for lube. The rest of drawer is crammed with tissues, stray guitar picks, about twenty different pens and chewed-on pencils, and loose-leaf paper. By the time Gabe excavates the little bottle and turns around with a triumphal cry, Pete's lying on his front with his head pillowed on his folded arms and looking at Gabe solemnly. His skin looks dark on the cream sheets, and before Gabe knows it, he's running a hand over the curve of Pete's ass. It's not like Gabe hasn't looked at Pete's ass before, but Pete's jeans didn't make it look like _that_.

Pete makes a pleased noise and spreads his legs apart. 

"Okay," Gabe mutters and puts on a condom, hissing when he touches his dick. He'd done an okay job of ignoring how hard he was before, but he can't do that now. 

Gabe strokes into Pete with a finger tentatively. He's shockingly hot inside, smooth and tight, and Gabe bites his lip and freezes, trying to wrap his head around it until Pete grumbles and pushes back and Gabe's finger sinks further. 

"It's good?" Gabe asks. 

"Uh-huh." Pete gets his knees under him and Gabe has to catch himself so he doesn't lose his balance on the shifting mattress. "Sorry," Pete says with a laugh. "Carry on. Go faster."

"Pushy," Gabe comments, but adds another finger, holding his breath for a sign from Pete that he's doing what Pete wants. Pete _moans_ and a wave a heat rushes through Gabe. He pushes his fingers in and out a little harder to test that it wasn't a fluke, and Pete cries out, a rough guttural _ah_. "Fuck, Pete," Gabe says helplessly and pulls his fingers out. They slide out so easily, and Gabe can't help but touch Pete's asshole, rub around it and up and down Pete's crack.

"Yeah," Pete gasps and pushes his ass out towards Gabe's fingers. "Come on, put it in me." 

"Can we, like..." Gabe runs his hand across his forehead, wiping off the beads of sweat there. "Can we do it face to face?"

Pete holds still for a moment and then rolls over, meeting Gabe's eyes seriously. "Come here."

Gabe hooks an arm under Pete's knee and settles between Pete's legs, biting his lip when his dick brushes Pete's. Pete keeps his eyes trained on Gabe's face, making little hot, encouraging noises and moves when Gabe lifts him up by the hips, when Gabe's dick slides down behind Pete's balls and towards his ass, when Gabe guides his dick inside. 

Fingering Pete didn't prepare Gabe for how hot and tight Pete would be, how Pete would clench around him when Gabe started to move inside him, and Pete looks like he knows, because he smirks. Gabe shoves in a little harder and Pete's smirk dissolves as his mouth falls open.

"Just move," Pete asks and guides Gabe's hand to his cock, and Gabe moves, steadily at first and getting more erratic, because Pete's around him and under him, in his hand, Pete and his smell everywhere, and Gabe can't even reach his mouth with his own. 

Pete comes first with a soft cry, clenching around Gabe hard until Gabe feels like he's going to die from holding back, and flops back onto the mattress like his bones have melted. He almost slips off Gabe's dick, and Gabe gets his hands under Pete's ass before he even has a chance to think about it, pushing the two of them together again. It only takes Gabe another minute of fucking into Pete and looking at Pete's hazy eyes and soft mouth until he comes like he's been punched. 

"God," Pete whispers and wiggles around until Gabe's dick slips free. Gabe winces, gets the condom off, and flops down next to Pete like a dead weight. 

"That was awesome," Gabe says and moves his limbs experimentally one by one to make sure they're still working. They are, even though most of them ache to one degree or another. "Right?"

Pete rolls into Gabe's side. "Magically delicious." 

"That doesn't even make sense," says Gabe, throwing his arm around Pete's shoulders and studying his expression. 

Pete seems happy, and Gabe lets himself relax a little. He walks his fingers down Pete's hip and lower until Pete gives him a little smile and pulls up his knee, an invitation to touch. Gabe strokes the rim of Pete's hole, watching Pete struggle to keep eye contact, until Pete whimpers quietly and shifts. 

Gabe takes his hand away and wipes it on the sheet, then puts it on Pete's waist after a few moments of indecision. Pete makes a satisfied noise and smiles at Gabe happily. Gabe smiles back. 

"I like it when you smile like that," Pete says in a quiet whisper, tracing Gabe's mouth with his thumb. "It's blindingly obvious when you're using your smile to hide. Makes it special when it's real."

Gabe catches Pete's thumb with his mouth and bites it to avoid answering. 

"I like it," Pete insists and leans in to kiss Gabe. 

Gabe kisses back helplessly, letting Pete take the kiss from him and not understanding why he's so fucking overcome when being in bed with someone he likes is always just _fun_.

Pete pulls away from Gabe's mouth and kisses Gabe's neck, burying his fingers in the hair at the back of Gabe's head. Gabe's lips are tingling and his head is tingling where Pete is touching it. 

"It's okay," Pete whispers into Gabe's ear. "Look, I've been fucked up for a really long time. I know what fake is and isn't. You don't have to do that with me."

Gabe's not sure he can be not-fake all the time; there's a terrifying openness that comes with it. But if Pete knows, then what's the point in pretending?

Gabe squeezes his eyes shut. "I really want this to work." 

Pete does something wonderful to Gabe's earlobe. "Fuck yeah."

Gabe is epically late to work on Wednesday and he doesn't even care. He spent the morning dozing while Pete typed on his tiny little laptop, and then he slid down and kissed Pete's hip. After they both came, Gabe rescued his boxer briefs from the floor by Pete's closet and made a tour of the room, Pete explaining the prints hanging on the walls.

The other bright side is that no one's at the office except for Mikey, either. And, of course, Gerard. Gerard is sitting on top of the reception desk, kicking his feet against the wood siding and furiously scribbling something in a notebook. He and Mikey don't seem to be paying attention to each other, but Gabe knows better. 

Gabe can't even get fake-irritated about any of it. He leans on the desk, elbowing Gerard to scoot over and stares at Mikey with a giant grin until Mikey tears himself away from his chat windows. 

Mikey holds up four post-it notes. "Everyone called in." 

"I'm going to have to talk to them about getting shit-faced on work nights," Gabe says. "Can you set up a meeting about that?"

"Sure." Mikey types something, loudly clacking the keys. Gabe knows for a fact that setting up a meeting requires more mouse clicks. 

"I'm surprised you didn't call in after everyone else did," says Gabe. 

"I'm surprised _you_ didn't," says Mikey. He does not look surprised. It's probably not because of his faith in Gabe.

"I'm a professional," says Gabe. "Also, Pete had to work."

Gerard looks up at the mention of Pete's name. "You guys are dating now, huh?"

"Going steady," Mikey confirms flatly. 

"Shut the fuck up," says Gabe. 

"I think it's sweet." Gerard gives Gabe a little smile. "Thanks for coming to my show."

"Whatever," Gabe says, embarrassed. "I didn't go for your art or anything."

Mikey glowers at him, but Gerard just rolls his eyes and puts his elbow into Gabe's collarbone. "Obviously," he says dryly.

"Ow!" Gabe rubs his shoulder. "Violence in the workplace is not okay."

Gerard shoots him a grin that's all sharp edges at first, and then his face softens. "Hey, he forgot to pick up the miniature he bought." Gerard reaches into his giant bag and pulls out a bubble-wrapped rectangle. Gabe recognizes the colors of the desert landscape faintly coming through the layers of plastic.

"Can I?" Gabe says and reaches for it. "He didn't exactly forget. We kind of... left before he could collect it."

Gerard snickers and Mikey sighs. Gabe rolls his eyes. "Is this how it's going to be from now on? Stop being teenagers."

"You first," says Mikey. 

Gabe sticks his tongue out at him and Gerard grabs it. His fingers taste like paint, with a faintly metallic taste that probably means that there are now metal shavings in Gabe's mouth. Gabe pulls back, sputtering. "Holy shit, if I ever meet your mom we'll have things to commiserate about."

Gerard waggles his eyebrows and Mikey makes a disgusted face. "No mom talk. That's in my contract."

"Talk to HR." Gabe straightens up and sighs. "Gerard, do you want an office to hang out in when you're here? You're ruining the feng shui."

"He is not," says Mikey.

"His stuff is."

Gerard lights up. "Can I just put my stuff in an office, then?"

Gabe waves a hand towards the offices, resigned but oddly not irritated. He'll be seeing a lot of Gerard either way now that the gallery show is running. "Pick one. An unoccupied one. Carpet-cleaning isn't in the budget. They can't get blood stains out anyway."

Gerard squeezes Gabe around the middle. "You're the best."

Mikey's looking at Gabe with a little approving smile, which probably means that maybe Mikey won't tell Pete to break up with Gabe anytime soon.

Gabe scrolls through and catalogues the various weird new things he's feeling and comes up with _good_. He looks around the lobby and watches the minute hand on the clock shudder and spring to the next marking, and it's close enough to noon that Gabe can make a decision. 

"I'm taking lunch," Gabe tells Mikey. "A long one. Please don't do anything stupid and don't let the phone go to voicemail the whole time." 

"We'll hold down the fort," Gerard promises with visibly rising excitement in his eyes. 

Gabe feels a pang of terror but lets it go. "Have fun, children."

He leaves the office and hits the elevator button. The elevator chimes as it arrives, and Gabe gets in. He's almost where he needs to be.


End file.
